


Raise It Up

by onetruealpha



Series: All the King's Horses [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Events to Echo House, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Brunski is creepier than Peter Hale, Gunplay, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Malia Tate is also creepy, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Pack Mom Melissa McCall, Post Nogitsune, Protective Lydia Martin, Protective Scott McCall, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scott and Lydia take care of Stiles, Scott is a Good Friend, Talk of STDs, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, True Alpha Scott McCall, help what have I done, otherwise canon compliant, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetruealpha/pseuds/onetruealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is caught off guard by an unexpected request and things take a turn for the worse as new consequences from Stiles' attack begin to surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think I want you to turn me.” 

Scott chokes on his mouthful of Lucky Charms and his eyes go wide as they turn to stare at his best friend, who’s sitting across from him at the table. He chews and swallows his food, darting a glance at Lydia, who’s gone completely still and silent, fingers curled around her glass of orange juice as she stares at Stiles.

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, setting his spoon in the bowl and leaning back in his chair. “You...what?” He is confused, completely confused, because Stiles has _never_ asked for the bite, has never acted like he’s interested in it before right now. 

“I know it seems out of left field at this point considering how long you’ve been a werewolf, but, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m pretty sure it’s what I want.” 

Scott and Lydia exchange a look before Scott shifts his attention back to his best friend. “Stiles, man, this is...I mean there’s a lot to think about.” 

“I know, Scott. Trust me. I’m pretty aware of all the possible consequences. Of all the drawbacks and the positives. And I just think at this point the positives outweigh the drawbacks by a lot.” Stiles looks down at his bowl of cereal. 

“What makes you say that?” Lydia asks carefully. 

Stiles is silent for a moment and Scott can hear his heart beating faster than usual, even when he’s taken extra Adderall that usually makes Scott worry his best friend is going to end up having a heart attack before he even makes it to 20. He can also smell his friend’s apprehension.

“If I’d accepted the bite from Peter way back when he made the offer, I never would have gotten possessed,” he says softly. 

Scott closes his eyes. “Yeah, but you would have had _Peter_ as your alpha.” 

“And now I’d have you,” Stiles counters, looking up and meeting his eyes.

“Stiles --” 

“Scott, let’s be real here. We all know who the weakest link in this pack is. It’s the guy who gets pummelled by old men and paralyzed by kanima venom over and over and gets rap--” He cuts himself off, looking down and holding his breath. “And gets possessed and ends up getting other people severely _dead_.” 

“You are not a weak link,” Scott says sharply, sitting up a little straighter in his chair and pinning his best friend with an intense look. “You’re the one who got me this far, man. I’d still probably be trying to figure out how to control myself if you hadn’t taught me that. If you hadn’t stood by my side no matter what happened, no matter how much of an asshole or an idiot I was being.” He glances at Lydia for help. 

Lydia sets her glass down, pursing her lips and studying Stiles for a few seconds before she picks up where Scott left off. “The possession could have happened to Allison just as easily as it happened to you,” she says and her voice is tense. She hasn’t said her best friend’s name in awhile. There are certain words the three of them avoid saying. Allison, Aiden, Eichen House, Malia, Brunski, _rape._ It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism when it comes down to it, but for now, they’ve mutually -- and in silence -- agreed not to utter certain things in the presence of the other two. 

Stiles flinches at the mention of the name and his gaze immediately drops to his plate again. “Maybe,” he murmurs, looking unconvinced.

“And you’ve been instrumental in me figuring out my abilities,” Lydia goes on. 

“We still haven’t figured out your abilities,” he responds with a sigh, his shoulders dropping. 

“We’re getting a more clear idea about them, though,” she points out. 

Scott watches Stiles intently, eyes troubled. He knows his best friend well enough to know that this is coming from a place of fear and not because Stiles truly _wants_ to be a werewolf. He’s positive that Lydia’s already picked up on that as well, even without werewolf senses. 

“Aren’t you tired of bailing my ass out of trouble?” Stiles looks at Scott and he hears the skip of Stiles’ heart and his chest tightens. 

“No,” he answers, meeting his eyes. “Stiles, look...whatever happens to you, to Lydia, to Derek...to any of you. I’ll never not do everything in my power to help you guys out. The same way that when _I_ get into trouble, you guys will all help _me_ out. It doesn’t matter if you’re a human or Lydia’s a banshee or I’m a werewolf. We’ve all gotten into trouble plenty of times.” 

Stiles apparently decides to switch tactics. “It would make you stronger. If you turned me.” 

Scott gives him a look. “I don’t _care_ about that. This isn’t about me,” he says gently. “I’m not saying no forever, but, Stiles...until I’m convinced that this is something you _really_ want…” He shakes his head. “Then right now the answer _is_ no.” 

Stiles stares at him for a moment, remaining still and silent. Then he picks up his glass of juice and takes a drink, letting the conversation drop for the time being. 

Thankfully.

____

For March, the California heat is sweltering and Scott’s feeling it more than most. He is slumped down in his chair, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Beside him Stiles sits with his usual three layers of clothes on and he watches from the corner of his eye as his best friend tries and fails to suppress a shiver. He’s obviously still cold despite the heat wave that’s settled on Beacon Hills and that troubles him more than a little. He hasn’t been possessed for months now.

He doesn’t want Stiles to catch his worried looks. His best friend has to be getting tired of all the hovering he’s been doing since everything with the nogitsune, but Stiles hasn’t uttered a word or given him an annoyed look that he’s seen -- not once.

“So today we begin our yearly discussion about all of your perverted little mind’s favorite topic: sex.” Coach Finnstock smirks and leans back against his desk. “I know all of you spend copious amounts of time thinking about it and some of you spend more than an average amount of time searching the internet for porn, _Greenberg._ ” 

There are a few snickers throughout the room and Scott shakes his head just a little and starts to doodle on the edges of his notebook.

“But just because you raging little bags of hormones think about it around the clock doesn’t mean you should be doing it. And if you’re going to do it, at least be smart about it and use protection. Boys, wrap it up,” Finnstock tells them. “There’s a lot of nasty STD’s out there floating around and your chances of getting one when you’re protected is much lower than if you’re not protected.” 

Scott stills in his chair and he knows they’re sharing a moment of grim realization when he hears Stiles’ heart begin to beat faster in his chest. He watches, swallowing hard as Stiles slinks down farther in his chair, face draining of color. And he doesn’t look at Scott and Scott knows Stiles knows he’s watching him, and he’s pretty sure that the color has drained from his own face. 

Stiles could be sick. 

Stiles could be _dying_ and they don’t even know it. 

He’s not sure how either of them manage to sit through the entire class as Finnstock goes over various STDs in very gruesome amounts of detail and all Scott can think is that his best friend had been violently assaulted and he doubts very much that Brunski had used any sort of protection. 

As soon as class ends, Scott follows Stiles out the door before the rest of the class even manages to _stand up._ He lays a hand on his shoulder and follows him right out the nearest exit door and into the blinding sunlight. 

“I am so screwed,” Stiles mutters, tossing his backpack on the ground and raking a hand through his hair. Scott can see that his hands are shaking. 

“Okay we don’t know that,” Scott tries and Stiles turns to glare at him. 

“Malia was probably fine considering she’s a werecoyote and can’t catch anything. But I kinda doubt I’m the first person Brunski wasn’t careful with.” There’s no mistaking the bitterness in his best friend’s voice and Scott can’t -- and doesn’t -- blame him a bit for it. 

Scott takes a deep breath, feeling a tightness in his chest that’s becoming all too familiar these days. But he has to stay calm because Stiles isn’t calm and one of them _has_ to be. Even now the thundering of his best friend’s heart rages in his ears. 

“I wish I’d killed him too.” Stiles’ jaw is tense and he hears the telltale skip of his friend’s heartbeat and Scott knows he doesn’t mean it, even if Scott feels that way himself. “I wish --” He cuts himself off looking away and Scott reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. 

“We’ll get through this,” he whispers. “We will. We don’t know for sure you have anything, Stiles. We’ll go to the hospital, we’ll get some kind of blood test done, and then we’ll know for sure. Let’s not panic until we have reason to.” God he hopes they don’t have reason to.

“The hell of it is -- it can take HIV up to like six months or more to show _up_ on a test. Even if I take one now it doesn’t mean it’s gonna be accurate.” His voice is flat, distant. Too matter of fact for the situation. 

Scott swallows hard and looks down at the ground for a moment. “It’ll rule out other stuff in the meantime,” he says quietly. “And if you have it…” He looks up at him once more, resignation in his eyes. “If you have it, you’re not gonna die from it. I won’t let you.” 

The look that Stiles gives him is so familiar, so reminiscent of that night at the hospital before his MRI that it physically hurts and he can’t stop himself from hugging his best friend tightly. He feels Stiles let out a shaky breath against his neck and shoulder and Stiles’ skin is so cool to the touch and it’s not something Scott’s sure he’ll ever get use to. 

“We’re gonna be okay, Stiles,” he whispers. Because he wasn’t about to let go. Not now. 

Not ever.


	2. Chapter 2

They avoid the hospital because Stiles doesn’t want to alarm Melissa and in turn, have her alarm his dad. Lydia researches and finds a clinic a couple of towns away from Beacon Hills -- far enough away that it’s unlikely anyone will recognize or know them. Stiles takes his fake ID -- because no way is he willing to have his name connected to anything that might reflect badly on his father and Stilinski? Not exactly a common name. It wouldn’t be too hard to put together that he’s the son of the Beacon Hills sheriff. 

When the nurse calls for Jonathan Williams, Lydia nudges him lightly with her elbow and he blinks, lifting his gaze from the plain white wall with posters explaining the different methods of birth control, the importance of using condoms, and a poster of a crying young woman who’s apparently just been told she contracted HIV when she chose to have unprotected sex with her boyfriend.

Stiles feels Scott’s hand wrap around his arm and give a gentle squeeze. He looks between them, takes a breath and pushes himself to his feet, and immediately the room begins to spin. He presses a hand to his forehead because his head feels like it’s going to explode and his heart is pounding too fast. 

“It’s okay,” Scott whispers as he rises to stand right beside him. “We’ll come with you.” 

It’s not okay, he thinks, but he nods anyway, wishing they were anywhere but here where people were looking at him curiously.

“First time?” the nurse guesses, sounding sympathetic as she waits for him to reach her where she’s standing by the door that leads down a long corridor. 

“Not a fan of needles,” he says, because lame as it sounds, it’s true, and it’s easier than telling her the rest of the truth.

She smiles knowingly and nods. “You and nearly everyone I meet on a daily basis.” Her gaze shifts between Scott and Lydia. “We usually only take one person back at a time.” 

“We’re unusual people,” Lydia says wryly. 

_____

Of course results aren’t given out instantaneously. His blood has to be sent off somewhere for extensive testing, and he’s told that it could take up to two weeks before he hears anything. No problem, he thinks. It isn’t like he hasn’t faced a possible death sentence before.   
_____

He struggles to focus at school the entire next week though Lydia and Scott both try their best to keep him distracted. Kira joins them at lunch each day, and though he hasn’t told her and he knows Scott and Lydia haven’t either, she’s smart. He’s pretty sure she knows from what she overheard from his and Malia’s “discussion” a few weeks before. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t pry, and he appreciates it. 

It’ll all be confirmed by the time the trial starts anyway. It’s less than a month away now. It isn’t going to be in Beacon Hills, but in Pleasantview -- the next town over, larger and with a courthouse that has more than one judge. But he’s smart enough to know that the change of venue won’t keep people from finding out. Rumors spread like wildfire in small towns, and especially in small town high schools. He dreads it like little he’s ever dreaded before. He wakes up screaming from a nightmare about the jury including Brunski’s sister, Isaac, Allison, and Chris Argent. 

His dad wants him to talk to the doctor about a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. He’s tempted to agree. 

He walks through the hallways of Beacon Hills High feeling like he’s hollow, a walking corpse. He thinks that it’s both an ironic and probably fitting description. 

____

On Friday, he’s even more tired than usual despite the fact he’s overdosed on Adderall and Scott is looking at him with that worry that he’s so used to seeing by now. 

“I’m gonna spend the night tonight,” he tells Stiles. “Okay?” 

Stiles nods and shuts his locker as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checks it, realizing it’s close to dying and he has no place to charge it. He sees he has a text from Derek and he opens the message. 

**From Derek**

_Need to talk to you in person. Worried about Scott. Come to the loft ASAP._

A cold chill creeps up his spine and he shuts the phone off and slides it into his pocket, glancing at Scott and wondering if he’s missed something with his best friend because he’s been too wrapped up in his own problems. Shit. He probably has. He’s a bad friend. 

“Everything okay?” Scott frowns. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna head to study hall. See you at lunch?” 

Scott nods, still looking troubled, like he knows that Stiles isn’t being entirely honest. And of course he knows. Even if he didn’t have werewolf hearing, he’d know anyway. He always knows. 

Stiles heads down the hallway and pauses outside of study hall, turning to make sure that Scott is out of sight before he slips out the nearest exit and runs for the parking lot and his jeep. 

____

Scott hasn’t been sleeping well. The stress is getting to all of them, he knows, and he’s trying very hard to find a balance between making sure that Stiles and Lydia are okay, and trying not to overcrowd them. If he’s overstepping his bounds, neither of them have said anything, and he’s fairly sure that Lydia, at least, would. He hopes. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket in the middle of English class and he heads out of the room saying he needs to use the bathroom. He pulls his phone out and looks at it, seeing a missed call from Stiles’ dad. That’s kind of weird, he thinks, heading farther down the hall and toward the locker room so no one wonders what he’s doing. 

He listens to his voicemail, which is a quick, “Scott, please call me as soon as you get this message.” 

Anxiety shoots through him and he’s redialing the sheriff’s number as he pushes the door open to the locker room. He hears the familiar voice on the other end a second later. “Sheriff?” 

“Oh, Scott. Thank god. Listen, I’ve been trying to call Stiles for the last twenty minutes but his phone’s going straight to voicemail. I know he’s in class, but it’s important.” 

Scott sits down on one of the benches. “Okay? What’s going on?” 

“There was a car accident this morning involving the transport van that Brunski was in,” he says urgently. 

His eyes widen. “Are you saying he’s _loose?_ ” 

“Yes,” Sheriff Stilinski says, sounding as on edge as he feels. 

“All right, well. I’ll stick close to Stiles and I won’t let him go anywhere alone after school lets out,” Scott assures him. 

“Thank you, Scott. I’ve gotta get back to work. There’s a city-wide manhunt for him going on.” 

“Good luck,” Scott says sincerely. 

“Thanks. See you later.” The line goes dead.

Scott swallows heavily and sends a text message to Stiles and one to Lydia. _Need to talk to you. Meet me at my locker after class._   
____

Stiles makes it to Derek’s loft fifteen minutes after he leaves school. He pauses at the elevator and sees the _Out of Order_ sign, and groans. It isn’t that he minds taking the stairs but he’s in a bit of a time crunch because he has a test in chemistry next period, and...there’s a _lot_ of damn stairs between the ground floor and Derek’s loft. 

He sighs and starts the journey. He’s in shape even if he’s not a werewolf, but he’s still a little winded by the time he makes it to the top. He reaches out and knocks on the door. “Derek?” he calls when no one answers. He hears something -- like a muffled shout -- and frowning, he turns the door handle, stepping inside and freezing when he sees the werewolf on the floor, a glare on his face. “Derek?” 

“Get out of here,” he grunts out between clenched teeth. Something in Derek’s eyes tells him he needs to do exactly that and he takes a step back toward the door and grows still once more when he finds the barrell of a gun shoved in his face. 

Brunski smirks at him and he feels his stomach tighten into a ball of fear. “So glad you could join the party, Stiles.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up: this part is pretty rough and involves gunplay. Could very well be triggering for people.

Stiles’ heart pounds in his chest as he stands frozen and stares at the gun that’s pointed in his face. He can’t help but think if it was _anyone_ other than Brunski holding the gun, he might have still been able to move, that his thoughts wouldn’t be whirling like a dryer set on the spin cycle. 

“Stiles. Stay calm.” Derek’s voice doesn’t sound quite right, and he’s still on the floor and Stiles realizes that Brunski’s used kanima venom on him, and his voice doesn’t sound quite right because he can’t move his lips to annunciate. 

“I don’t mind if he panics. It won’t do him much good, though,” Brunski says, nudging Stiles’ cheek with the tip of the gun, just enough to sting a little. 

“Think about what you’re doing. You’re messing with the _sheriff’s_ only son. You think you’re gonna get by with that? Really?” 

“The sheriff has no reason to think his only son isn’t perfectly safe at school. I have plenty of time.” He sounds completely unconcerned at the possibility of getting caught. And why would he? He has to know that Stiles’ dad, that _Scott_ will track him anywhere he goes. He has nothing left to lose. 

“You’re severely underestimating the sheriff.” 

“So concerned, Derek. Didn’t Stiles here help get you arrested and thrown in jail for murder?” Brunski keeps his eyes on Stiles. “Give me your phone.” 

He doesn’t move. _Can’t_ move. There is a gun in his face and Derek is on the floor paralyzed and no one even knows he’s not at school now. Scott won’t be looking for him until lunch time, and he has no classes with Lydia until after lunch. 

“I _said_ give me your phone!” Brunski presses the gun against his chest, over his heart, shaking him out of his self-induced paralysis. He digs his hand into his pocket, pulls out his iPhone and hands it over wordlessly with a trembling hand. “Thank you. Now take a seat on the couch.” He motions with the gun. “And if you try anything, I’ll just shoot Derek here with one of the wolfsbane bullets in my .45. I don’t think that’ll end very well for him.” 

Stiles swallows heavily and moves to sit on the couch as Brunski instructed, gaze darting to Derek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

“Stop it. This isn’t your fault,” Derek tells him, meeting his eyes for a second.

Stiles’ gaze darts back to Brunski and he watches as he turns Stiles’ phone on. Instantly his heart leaps. “What are you doing?” 

“What’s your code?” he asks by way of answer. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles repeats. 

Brunski sighs. “This isn’t how this works, Stiles. Now tell me your phone’s code before I get angry.” He waves the gun around. 

“You should get out of town while you have the chance,” Derek informs him. 

“Don’t make me gag you, Derek,” he says casually, locking his eyes on Stiles. “You won’t like what I use to do it with.” One corner of his mouth turns up. “Or maybe you would.” 

Stiles feels ill at the implications. “9-1-6,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Brunski pauses at that, then chuckles. “That’s very sweet. Using your best friend’s birthday as your passcode. Does he know how you really feel about him?” 

He doesn’t answer, just sits still on the sofa, trying to suppress the urge he has to vomit or launch himself across the room at the man. 

“Tell you what. I’ll ask him myself when he gets here.” 

Fear surges through him and he rises to his feet. “No, don’t. Please don’t bring him into this. He hasn’t done anything.” He hates the pleading in his voice. Hates that he’s begging this man who’s wrecked his life in so many ways. But it’s Scott’s life on the line and there’s _nothing_ Stiles won’t do to keep Scott safe. 

Brunski cocks his head to the side. “You should have thought about that before you broke our agreement.” 

“Just kill me,” he says forcefully. “Just _kill_ me and leave everyone else out of this. I’m the one who screwed up.” 

“Stiles, shut _up_ ,” Derek growls. 

Brunski closes most of the distance between them. “What else are you willing to do to keep Scott McCall safe, Stiles?” There’s a challenge in his voice. 

He thinks of his best friend, who’s done so much to keep everyone safe. Who’s done everything in his power to make Stiles _feel_ safe after Eichen House and the nogitsune, despite everything he was going through, too. He thinks of the boy that he met in the sandbox when he was four, the boy who has always been the one person who has more faith in him than anyone else. His eyes tear up but he blinks rapidly to keep from crying. 

Stiles draws in a shaky breath. “Anything. I’ll do anything, just don’t -- don’t drag him into this. Please.” 

Brunski smirks. 

____

“Okay, I’m here. What’s going on?” Lydia leans against the locker beside Scott’s, arching an eyebrow. He notices that she’s paler than usual. Tired. They’re all tired.

“Just waiting on Stiles,” he tells her, not quite meeting her eyes. 

She glances around the hallway as the crowd of students begins to thin as they head for their next classes. “Are you sure he got your message?” 

Scott pulls his phone out and looks at it. “It says it was delivered.” 

“Maybe he forgot.” He can tell by the anxiety in her voice that she doesn’t believe it. 

“Maybe,” he says doubtfully. 

When Stiles doesn’t show by the time the bell rings, Lydia pushes herself away from the locker, rubbing at her temples. “Something’s wrong.” 

“He has chemistry now,” Scott mumbles, dropping his bag on the ground by his locker and heading down the hallway. 

“Scott, what’s going on?” she calls after him. 

He peers into the window on the chemistry room door. He can’t see all of the seats, but he also doesn’t see Stiles. He focuses, closing his eyes, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes he can’t hear his heartbeat inside. “He’s not here.” 

“Tell me what’s happening,” Lydia orders, gripping both of his arms, green eyes wide. 

“Brunski. There was an accident this morning and the van they were transporting him in -- he got free somehow. They don’t know where he is.” 

“ _What!?”_ Lydia whips out her phone and sends a text message to Stiles’ phone. 

“This isn’t right. Why isn’t he here?” Scott asks, shaking his head as he feels an urgent sense of _do something_ shoot through him. And his phone vibrates. He quickly pulls it from his pocket, seeing Stiles’ name flash on the screen. He flips it open to read the text from his best friend. 

“He’s at Derek’s,” he says, confusion making his eyebrows furrow. “He says he won’t be back today.” 

“No,” Lydia murmurs. “No, something’s not right, Scott. He wouldn’t just take off without saying a word to either of us. He would’ve waited until he saw one of us in person, or he would have called.” 

Scott searches her eyes and nods in agreement. “All right. All right, I’m gonna head over there and make sure.” He starts to head away but her grip tightens on his arms. 

“I’m coming with you.” 

He opens his mouth to tell her it might not be safe and she glares at him. 

“This is _Stiles._ You aren’t leaving me behind, Scott,” she informs him heatedly. 

“Okay,” Scott says simply, nodding. “Then let’s get going.” Because he has a bad feeling that she’s right. Stiles is in trouble. 

And for whatever reason...he can feel it too. 

____

He stands in the middle of the room face to face with Brunski, willing himself not to move away, not to flinch. He shoots a quick look down to Derek and he sees the werewolf digging his nails into his legs and he has such a sense of deja vu that it’s almost overwhelming. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Derek growls at Brunski. “I’m gonna rip you apart and they’re never even going to find all your pieces.” 

“Why don’t we start with taping Derek’s mouth shut for now. I’m tired of hearing him talk.” Brunski motions to the coffee table and Stiles moves slowly, on autopilot. He picks up the roll of duct tape and tears a strip off before kneeling down beside him silently, trying to will himself to shut down. To just tune out. He gives Derek an apologetic look before covering his mouth with the tape. 

“Good boy,” Brunski tells him, moving over to where he is. Stiles starts to get up but the older man stops him with a forceful hand on his shoulder. “On your knees is a great look for you. And it’s a good starting place.” 

Dread and nausea sweep over him and he hears a growl from behind him and he knows that Derek is trying hard to fight the paralysis. The fact that this is about to happen again, in front of someone he’s started considering a friend, is the worst part of it. He shuts his eyes but it doesn’t stop a couple of tears from trickling down his cheeks. 

“Oh yes.” Brunski reaches out and strokes his face, his throat. 

He pulls away and the man’s grip becomes forceful instantly, threatening to crush his windpipe. 

“I’d rather not use the kanima venom on you again, Stiles, but I will if I have to.” 

The thought of being paralyzed and helpless at this man’s hands again makes him blanch and he stills. Brunski’s grip on his throat relaxes a little. 

“Open your mouth.”

Stiles shudders and wishes Brunski would just use the gun on him and get it over with. It’s a terrible thing to wish for considering he still has a chance of surviving this. It’s a terrible thing to wish for because he knows it will devastate his dad. Scott. Lydia. But he wishes it anyway.

Before he can register what’s happening, his cheek is exploding with pain and he’s flat on the ground beside Derek. A cry escapes him as Brunski yanks him back up to his knees by tugging on his hair. “You always have to be told what to do twice? Your poor father.” He shakes his head. “Open your mouth.” 

This time he does, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands and pressing them hard against his knees. His eyes go wide as Brunski slides the barrell of the gun into his mouth. “Suck,” he orders, still gripping tightly onto Stiles’ hair. Brunski doesn’t give him much choice in the matter. 

The gun is cold and metallic tasting and he sees the man’s eyes dilate as he thrusts the pistol into his mouth deeper and pulls it back before doing it again. “Yeah, you’ve got a real oral fetish, don’t you, pretty boy.” Stiles gags on it and the former orderly chuckles, using his other hand to cup the back of Stiles’ neck and stroke it lightly with his fingertips. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting you warmed up for the real thing.” His voice is mockingly soothing, like he thinks Stiles is anxiously anticipating what’s going to happen next. 

All he can hear is the sound of blood rushing in his ears. _Just pull the trigger,_ he thinks miserably. 

____

Scott can pick out the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat among all the other people in Derek’s building by the time he reaches the lobby. It’s rapid and thready and terrifying all at once. He barely glances at Lydia before launching himself at the stairs, taking them two at a time as quickly as he can move. 

By the time he reaches the fourth floor landing, he can _smell_ Stiles’ fear. Derek’s anger. All he can think is _please don’t let me be too late._ He leaps up the last set of steps, wolfed out and eyes flashing red. He doesn’t bother knocking, he simply grabs the door handle, barely registering the sticky substance on his fingers as he throws it open. 

His best friend is kneeling on the floor, tears streaking his pale face as Brunski stands in front of him. 

There is a _gun_ in Stiles’ mouth. 

He roars, not caring who hears or who might be nearby and all eyes in the room turn to him. His gaze locks with Stiles’ momentarily before he focuses his attention on Brunski, rage surging through him. 

“You got lucky that I didn’t kill you before,” he informs the man, claws extending. “You’re not gonna be lucky this time.” 

“Is that so?” Brunski grabs Stiles around the throat, gun pressing against his temple. “I don’t think you’re gonna do a damn thing, Scott.” His voice is cheerful. Too cheerful. _Knowing._

Something isn’t right. Scott has a strange feeling, like his entire body is going numb and a second later he finds himself on the floor as it dawns on him that the sticky substance on the door handle was kanima venom. 

“Well. I do believe we have a _real_ party now, Stiles,” he says with a chuckle.


	4. Chapter 4

The sight of Scott on the floor sends a wave of terror crashing over Stiles because he remembers Brunski’s threats at Eichen House. And now Scott is as helpless as Derek is, as helpless as Stiles is with a gun pressed against his temple. And Brunski is _loving_ all of it. He can practically feel the man’s pride and arrogance as he strokes the back of Stiles’ neck, and he hates him more than he ever has. 

“What do you think, Stiles? He’s all nice and still now. It’s your perfect chance. Your _only_ chance.” He smirks. 

Stiles’ eyes lock on Scott’s, guilt and fear warring for control of him. He sees only warmth and reassurance in Scott’s gaze. Even now when he’s in danger again because of Stiles, he’s trying to comfort him. 

Brunski sighs when Stiles doesn’t answer and he reaches up, yanking hard on Stiles’ hair and making him cry out involuntarily. 

“Stop it! Stop it! Leave him alone!” Scott shouts, and Stiles can hear the fury in his best friend’s voice. 

“And what do you think you’re going to do if I don’t?” He chuckles. “In case you haven’t noticed, you and Derek here are both a bit out of commission and I have a gun. Surely you don’t think _Stiles_ is going to try anything. He’s a little too afraid I might decide to shoot you.” 

“Stiles, look at me,” Scott says, ignoring Brunski. He does, and he draws in a shuddering breath. “No matter what happens here today, this is _not_ your fault. Okay? This is all on him, not you.” 

“I think your alpha senses he’s not going to make it through the day,” Brunski says as he leans down and whispers in Stiles’ ear. 

He shudders involuntarily, both from the feel of the man’s breath against his skin and the idea that he’s going to hurt Scott. Possibly _kill_ Scott. God, he can’t let that happen. He _can’t_. He doesn’t care what happens to him, but Scott McCall can’t die today. Not today and not because of Stiles. He has to do _something._ He just needs some kind of opening. Just a sliver of opportunity to move, to get the gun away from Brunski. If he can do that, this whole thing can be turned around, he thinks.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” Stiles tells him, not only because he _will_ , but because he wants to keep Brunski’s attention on him and not on Scott. 

“Yes, you will,” the man agrees with a knowing look. “Because you don’t have a choice, do you, Stiles? I can do anything I want to you. I can make you do anything I want to me and you won’t even fight because you know what I’ll do to them if you don’t cooperate.” He strokes the back of Stiles’ neck almost affectionately and his skin crawls. 

“Yes,” he answers, voice hollow and distant even to his own ears. 

“ _No,_ ” Scott protests angrily. “Stiles, you don’t have to do a damn thing!” 

Brunski yanks Stiles head back by his hair with enough force that he tumbles backwards and hits the ground hard, sprawled out alongside Derek and he moves over to Scott, pressing the barrel of the gun to Scott’s forehead. “He’ll do exactly what I say because if he doesn’t, I’ll kill you first and then Derek.” 

“Stop.” Stiles rises to his feet, the sight of the gun pressed to Scott’s head propelling him to get over the pain throbbing in his own head. “Just stop. You don’t need to do anything to Scott. Just tell me what you want, Brunski.” 

Brunski smirks at Scott, but keeps the gun pressed to his head. “Get over here. We don’t want your alpha here to miss the show and he can’t really move so we’ll have to come to him.” 

He draws in a shaky breath and moves to the man’s side, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“On your knees, facing Scott. I want to make sure he has the best angle so he can watch while I fuck your throat,” Brunski says casually, like it’s no big deal. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Scott whispers, eyes flashing red as he grits his teeth. “You touch him again and I’m gonna rip your throat out.” 

“Stop,” Stiles whispers. “Scott, just stop.” _Stop drawing attention to yourself,_ he thinks as he sinks to his knees. 

“Unzip my pants,” Brunski orders, keeping the gun trained on Scott. 

Before he has a chance, he hears footsteps approaching and _oh shit_ , he _knows_ the familiar click of Lydia’s high heels as she moves toward the loft, and he wonders with a feeling of building hysteria, how much worse things can possibly get. 

“Stiles? Scott? What’s going --” She freezes in the doorway at the sight before her and Stiles meets her eyes. 

“Run!” he shouts. 

“I wouldn’t.” He aims the gun at Stiles’ forehead. “Not unless you want your lover boy here to die.” Brunski turns to look at Lydia. “Why don’t you come have a seat, pretty little banshee?” 

Stiles shuts his eyes, head dropping for a brief moment. He feels something inside of him breaking at the thought of anyone else getting hurt because of him. Especially the people in the room, the people he’s already hurt so much. It feels like the world is spinning out of control, like nothing he does is going to make any damn difference. They’re all going to die here. 

“Tell you what. Why don’t we up the stakes here a little?” 

Nausea makes his stomach tighten and he opens his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“Which one of them do you care about more? The alpha or the banshee?” Brunski asks, motioning the gun between Scott and Lydia. 

“What are we, five?” Lydia scoffs, rolling her eyes from where she’s sitting a few feet away. 

“So sassy. No wonder he likes you. The question is, which of you will he choose when it comes down to it?” 

“I’m not choosing between them,” Stiles tells him harshly, anger starting to well up within him and coiling beside the fear. 

“Then I’ll kill them both.” He shrugs, aiming the gun at Lydia’s head. 

“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? They haven’t done anything to you, they didn’t do anything to your sister!” 

Brunski chuckles. “Oh. That. I don’t actually have a sister, Stiles. I’m an only child.” 

He stares at Brunski. “So you’re just a psychopath.” 

“Well, spend enough time around them…” He shrugs. 

“Fine. Fine.” He swallows hard. “Do you want me to suck you off or not?” His tone is bored and he can practically feel Scott and Lydia both tense. 

“Such an eager little slut. I knew you enjoyed yourself. I’ll allow you to do it again. Unzip me.” 

Stiles reaches up with shaking hands and unzips the man’s jeans, pulling them down around his knees. He wills himself not to throw up as he reaches for the waistline of the briefs he’s wearing. 

“I better not feel teeth,” Brunski warns, curling his fingers in Stiles’ hair tightly enough to hurt. 

And that’s when Lydia screams. Long and loud and he flinches from the sound, watching as Brunski reaches up to cover his ears. 

It’s the exact kind of distraction Stiles needs and he uses the force of his body tackle the orderly to the floor, slamming a fist into his face. He feels the man’s nose break beneath his knuckles, blood spurting. He wastes no time reaching out to grab the gun, but Brunski is bigger than him, and stronger. The man rolls them, pinning Stiles beneath him. 

“That was really stupid,” Brunski spat, grabbing him by the throat. 

Stiles chokes, reaching up to try and claw his hand away, but the orderly tightens his grip. He catches a flash of movement and suddenly Lydia is there, wielding a chair that she slams into Brunski, knocking him off Stiles.

He gasps for breath, eyes watering as he rolls onto his side and grabs the gun that’s lying on the floor. 

“Stiles! Are you okay?” Lydia quickly moves to his side, eyes wide as she kneels beside him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Can you check on Derek?” he asks, not taking his eyes off Brunski, who’s already starting to move again. 

“Yeah of course.” She squeezes his shoulder and then moves over to where the older werewolf lay, removing the tape from his mouth. 

“I can almost move again,” Derek tells her. “Call the police.” 

“I called them when I was on my way up,” Lydia tells him. “That was my Plan B.” 

Stiles glances over at her, a smile tugging his mouth upwards despite the situation. “Plan B, huh?” 

“Learned from the best.” She smiles back at him and he feels a flood of warmth in his chest. 

“Stiles!” Scott shouts suddenly, and he whips his head back around in time to see Brunski barreling right at him. The force of the impact knocks him backwards. He doesn’t mean to pull the trigger.

The gunshot is loud despite the spaciousness of the open loft and his fingers are slick with blood as he hits his head against the hard floor, all the air leaving his lungs as the body sprawls out over him, limp and heavy. 

Distantly he can hear Scott shouting his name, see Lydia kneeling above him with fearful eyes. 

And then everything grows dark.

_____

“Lydia! Lydia, what’s happening?” Scott’s voice sounds frantic to her ears as she kneels beside Stiles’ still body, placing a hand on his cheek. 

“He’s okay. He’s all right. He just passed out,” she assures him, glancing at him over her shoulder. She shoves at the dead body laying atop her best friend’s unconscious form until she manages to roll Brunski off him. She grimaces at the sight of all the blood covering both of them, and she hears the wail of sirens in the distance. 

“Derek, tell me you can move,” she says urgently. 

“Getting there.” He shifts onto his side, slow and sluggish like he’s moving through mud. 

“We need to get our stories straight. Derek, he took you hostage and used a paralyzing agent on you and used your phone to text Stiles.” She looks back at Scott. “Stiles texted Scott but Scott was worried. I came with him and he took us hostage too. When Brunski held a gun to my head, Stiles managed to distract him long enough to get the gun away, but Brunski attacked him. It was self-defense.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. 

It’s also a pretty accurate description of what happened. 

“Scott, you need to focus and shift back to your human form because it isn’t just going to be Stiles’ dad that shows up this time.” She leans down, pressing a tender kiss to Stiles’ forehead before moving away from him and over to Scott. “Can you do that?” 

“I’m trying,” he tells her, grimacing. 

Lydia leans over him, staring into his eyes. “Close your eyes,” she instructs, watching as he does so. Then she smoothes a hand over his brow. “Relax. Everything’s okay. Stiles is safe. We’re all safe. Everything’s okay, Scott.” She relaxes as she sees his claws retract and return to normal human fingers, watches the extra hair he’s sprouted recede, leaving him looking like his regular seventeen year old self. 

She closes her eyes, sitting back on her heels and exhales slowly. 

“Thanks,” Scott whispers. “Are you okay? Derek, are _you_ okay?” 

“I’m all right. Pissed off, but all right.” 

Lydia can hear the anger in his voice and she looks over to where he’s struggling to sit up. “It isn’t your fault.” 

“He used me to get to Stiles.” 

“It could have happened to any of us. It _did_ happen to us, actually. He was using all of us to get to Stiles.” 

She reaches out and rubs a hand over Scott’s arm though she knows he can’t feel it. 

“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he whispers. 

“Stop,” she orders firmly. “Stiles is going to blame himself already and we can’t add to it by blaming ourselves. If he sees or hears any of us taking the blame for anything that son of a bitch did today, he’ll think it’s okay for him to blame himself.” She shoots Derek a look. “Are we clear?” 

His jaw tightens a little but he nods. “We’re clear. Scott? Are we clear?” 

Scott lets out a breath. “Clear.” 

She hears footsteps pounding up the stairs toward the loft. “They’re almost here. Stick to the story. We’ll be fine.” 

“Stiles!” she hears Sheriff Stilinski shouting. 

Lydia quickly rises to her feet and moves to intercept him at the door. “He’s okay, Sheriff. He passed out, but he’s fine.” She glances toward Brunski and he follows her gaze, growing still. 

“Is he -- “ 

“Self-defense,” she says immediately. “Stiles managed to get his gun away but Brunski charged at him like a lunatic. He passed out right after.” 

She steps aside and Sheriff Stilinski immediately moves over to his unconscious son, cradling him in his arms. Then he looks over at Scott. “Scott, are _you_ okay?” 

“Other than not being able to move, I’m fine,” Scott tells him. 

“Kanima venom,” Lydia whispers as she hears other footsteps approaching. “We’re going to have to say it was some kind of medical agent.” 

The sheriff nods and looks toward the door. “Parrish, call an ambulance for my son and Scott. And call the coroner.” He juts his chin toward Brunski’s body. 

Parrish reaches for the radio on his vest and immediately follows orders. 

Lydia rakes a hand through her hair, eyes locking on Stiles again. She doesn’t want to be glad that someone is dead, but she is. Because it means that he won’t be posing a future threat. But she knows that what happened at Eichen House, what happened today...is going to haunt Stiles for a long time to come. 

She also knows they’ll get him through it. Together, like always. 

They’re pack.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles spends nearly an hour in the shower under steaming hot water. His skin is red from the heat, from the scrubbing, but he shivers as the water turns to ice cold and he still doesn’t climb out. His eyes are shut tightly and he focuses as hard as he can on the sound of the water running, on the sound of his heart beating. Scott is alive. Lydia is alive. Derek is alive. 

He is alive. 

His tears mix with the falling water and he starts when he hears a knock. He doesn’t have to call out and ask who it is -- it’s Scott. 

“I’m okay,” he says under his breath, knowing his best friend will hear him. He won’t believe him, but he’ll hear him. 

By the time he climbs out of the shower, his teeth are chattering violently and he towel dries as quickly as he can, tugging on a pair of clean boxers, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. He tugs a red lacrosse hoodie on over his head, too, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s his or Scott’s because it’s so baggy. None of his clothes fit right these days even though he’s been eating more. Right now, though, the thought of food makes his stomach turn. 

He glances in the mirror and gasps as he sees himself covered in blood. He backs away, tripping on the edge of the bath mat and tumbling backwards hard against the edge of the tub. 

____

Scott hasn’t moved from outside the bathroom door since he knocked moments before. He hears a thud and doesn’t bother knocking the door this time. He opens the door and steps inside. “Stiles?” He spots his best friend on the floor, wide eyed and pale. 

“Blood,” he whispers. “There’s blood all over me!” 

Scott moves to his side. “No. No there isn’t. There isn’t any blood, Stiles,” he whispers back. 

“I saw it in the mirror!” His voice rises with panic when he looks at Scott. 

“No.” Scott shifts closer, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you there isn’t any blood on you. Not a single drop.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Do you trust me?” he asks quietly, holding his gaze. He’s relieved to hear that Stiles’ heart rate is slowing down to a more normal level.

“Yeah.” Stiles draws in a shaking breath. “Yeah.”   
Scott nods slowly, dropping his gaze to Stiles’ neck. There are bruises there, dark and finger-shaped and he swallows hard, reaching out and pulling Stiles into a hug. He feels the other teen shudder against him and he shuts his eyes. 

“I killed someone else today.” Stiles’ voice is barely audible, tired. 

“In self-defense. You killed him in self-defense,” he says firmly. Some part of Scott is glad that the man is dead. He’s glad that he can’t come after Stiles again. Can’t hurt anyone else. The other part wishes he could have been the one to do it, to keep Stiles from having to feel any guilt over killing a man who would’ve happily inflicted a lot more pain and anguish on his best friend and possibly killed all of them. Wishes he’d been able to protect Stiles the way Stiles keeps protecting him. Protecting all of them. 

“Yeah.” 

Scott draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. He knows there are things they need to talk about. The things that Brunski had said, the things that Stiles had been willing to do to keep Scott safe. He doesn’t know if he should bring it up now or if he should wait. 

“I can practically hear the gears turning in your brain,” Stiles informs him, voice muffled because his face is half-pressed against Scott’s shoulder. 

“Stiles, I need to tell you that...what you said. The things you were willing to do -- I don’t ever want you to sacrifice yourself in any way for me,” he whispers. “You know that right?” 

Stiles pulls away from him. “You would have done the same thing.” 

Scott holds his breath for a second, then nods slowly, because he’s right. There’s nothing he won’t do to keep Stiles safe. There’s nothing they won’t do to keep each other safe. He shifts closer until their shoulders are pressed together and they are sitting side by side. 

“Lydia still at the station?” Stiles asks after a long moment of comfortable silence. 

“Yeah. She texted and said she’ll be here soon.” Scott exhales. He nods, shifting and leaning more into Scott, who winds an arm around his shoulders. 

“Scott?” 

“Yeah?” 

Stiles rubs a hand over his face wearily. “The things that Brunski said.” He swallows hard. 

“Stiles, it’s okay,” he says softly. “He was spouting off crap he didn’t know anything about and -- “ 

“He wasn’t.” 

Scott turns his head to look at his best friend. 

“He wasn’t just spouting off crap,” he whispers, not looking at him. He sounds miserable, guilty. _Apologetic._ He pulls away a little. 

He shakes his head. “Stiles--” 

“You don’t have to say anything. Just...after everything, I needed you to know. That’s all.” 

Scott pulls him closer again. “What about Lydia?” he asks quietly. 

Stiles’ expression is pained. “I love her,” he answers, looking down at his hands. “I’ve always loved her. She’s my tether.” 

“And me?” He rests his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, watching him. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he needs to hear it anyway. Needs to make sure they are on the same page because this is different. This is something _more_ and he’s not sure how to proceed if they are on the same page, and even less so if they aren’t. 

“You’re my solid ground,” he whispers. “And in case it isn’t clear enough...I love you, too.” 

Scott nods slightly, pulling him into another hug. “Me too,” he whispers. He closes his eyes as he feels Stiles relax in his arms. He loves Stiles. He’s always loved Stiles and things between them are changing and it’s going to be a long road ahead. He doesn’t know how it’ll all work. If it even _can_. 

But he’s willing to try. 

For Stiles. 

____

Lydia isn’t surprised by the development, and she notices right away because she is smart and observant. She knows that Stiles has always had feelings for Scott. She knows that Scott has always had feelings for Stiles, even if he hadn’t realized how deep they’d really gone. It is the fact that they want her _with_ them that surprises her. Sure, she knows that Stiles has feelings for her, too. It surprises her at least to a degree that Scott is okay with him not choosing. 

“We’ve been through enough,” Scott tells her quietly, his eyes dark and earnest and his expression open and honest. He is so very Scott-like (and she hears Stiles’ voice in her head when she has that thought) and it is incredibly endearing. 

“And the three of us being _together_ is your solution?” She quirks an eyebrow, though she’s not honestly bothered by the idea at all. She’s always been very open to new things when it comes to her sexuality. But this is so much more than that. It isn’t, at the core, about sex at all. And that’s the part that scares her.

She watches Scott rub the back of his neck and she shifts her gaze to Stiles, expression softening when she finds him watching her with uncertainty. She moves to sit beside him on the Stilinski’s porch steps. 

“Is it too weird?” he asks quietly. 

Lydia tilts her head. “It’s weird,” she concedes after a moment. “But the three of us seem to specialize in weird.” She reaches out and laces her fingers through his, and he curls his fingers around hers instantly. She looks over at Scott. “You should know that I’m usually not very good at sharing.” 

Scott glances at her and then at Stiles, nodding. “Me either.” 

“I can’t lose you guys,” Stiles whispers, not looking at either of them. “I need you both.” 

“I think it’s safe to assume at this point that we all need each other,” Lydia tells him gently. 

“You’re never going to lose me,” Scott says honestly. “We’ve been through too much together. Whether this…” He gestures to the three of them. “Whether this works out or not, I’m not going anywhere, man. Not ever.” 

She feels Stiles squeeze her hand as he nods and looks at Scott for a moment before turning his head to look at her, searching her eyes. “Lyds?” 

Lydia leans in and presses a soft kiss against his mouth. “We’re tethered, Stiles. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me too,” she whispers, leaning her head against his. 

____

His test results come back several days later and they all breathe a sigh of relief when they come back negative for everything. He’s not convinced that it’s over, that the next round of tests won’t come back revealing a different conclusion, but he’s going to try and not think about it for the time being because he’ll only succeed in driving himself crazy, and in turn, driving Scott and Lydia crazy, too. 

Stiles lays sprawled out on Scott’s bed with Scott to his right and Lydia to his left, their shoulders and sides pressed against his closely. It’s the way they always lay together, with him in the middle and he’s not sure if it’s because they’re trying to make sure he’s as warm as possible because he still runs about ten degrees colder than normal these days, or if it’s because of something else. 

Whatever the reason, it’s the most relaxed he’s been in months, since before the Nemeton ritual that started all of the insanity that nearly killed them all. Lydia shifts and lays her head on his shoulder and he slides his arm around her though neither of them look away from the TV screen where _Frozen_ is playing. Lydia’s choice, and not really a bad one considering it’s animated and not really violent. 

None of them wants to be exposed to more violence again just yet, fictional or not. His head is pillowed on Scott’s arm and he glances toward the door as Melissa McCall peeks in at them. “Popcorn?” she offers with a soft smile, holding up a large bowl. 

“Yes,” Scott says immediately, sitting up and moving over to grab it. 

Stiles and Lydia shift around so they’re sitting up enough to be able to snack without choking. “Thanks,” he tells Melissa with a faint smile. 

Melissa smiles at him warmly and nods before disappearing down the hall again. 

He’s pretty sure none of their parents realize exactly what’s going on between them, and he’s almost as sure that it’s because the three of _them_ aren’t even sure yet. He just knows that he loves them both. That he feels safe and comfortable for the first time in a long time. He’s choosing not to analyze it too much -- yet. 

Things like that can wait. It isn’t like they’re doing anything together that’s bad or unhealthy. He’s not ready for anything beyond laying together and cuddling. He thinks it might take awhile before he is. Neither Scott nor Lydia seems to be bothered and he knows neither of them will push him and he won’t push them, either. 

“Stop thinking and watch the movie,” Lydia tells him, carding her fingers through his hair as he leans into her touch. 

Stiles can’t help but smile at that, glancing at her sideways. “So bossy.” 

“Just the way you love me,” she responds smugly. 

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agrees, kissing her cheek before looking at Scott, who’s watching them intently.

Scott reaches out and drapes his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, his arm long enough that his hand rests on Lydia’s shoulder. Stiles leans into him and turns his eyes back to the TV screen as he pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

_Here I stand...In the light of day...Let the storm rage on...The cold never bothered me anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to be honest, I had this finished about a week ago and I've hesitated to post this part because I'm not entirely happy with it. It may just be one of those writer things where you're just never satisfied with a project. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the feedback you've all given me for this series. It's SO appreciated and it's made me realize how much I've missed writing. I'm working on a new TW fic/series already but it may be a bit before I'm happy enough with it to post it. 
> 
> In the meantime, if you want to leave me some Scott/Stiles or Lydia/Stiles or Lydia/Stiles/Scott prompts, or even just some Stiles-based gen fic, that'd be awesome. I make no guarantees for using anyone's ideas, but if it sparks my muse then I definitely would!

**Author's Note:**

> So I thiiiiink this is probably going to be the last story in this series. I have a pretty good idea of where it's going to go, but sometimes the characters take me by surprise so I may add more tags and warnings with future chapters. Not sure how long this one is going to be.


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